


On the Subject of Intolerance

by tomas_abe



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But still pretty close to canon in most aspects, Gen, Nia Nal POV, Strong sense of outsider-looking-in perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-08 08:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomas_abe/pseuds/tomas_abe
Summary: Nia Nal never worked for CatCo.That doesn’t make her any less brilliantAlso features: Snapper Carr catching unexpected feelings and investigating his way out of them.Lena Luthor and L-Corp being kinda terrifying.Kara Danvers deserving the whole dang world.





	1. Prologue (Fade Into)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of it all.

Nia has been working for the _National City Herald_ for about a year when she’s finally given her first solo assignment.

The proposed story is simple: a lightly investigated piece on rising discontent amongst the blue-collar, “real backbone of America”-type demographic on the runup to the mayoral elections.

Sure, it isn’t particularly original, but the _Herald_ has always been a little old-school, and this is Nia’s first opportunity to do something other than prep FOIA requests for her coworkers and write up fluff pieces, so she dives into it without complaint.

Or, well.

At least that _was_ the plan.

But, as she sits across yet another construction worker in yet another greasy diner on yet another interstate, dutifully writing down all his complaints and grievances about being left behind by an indifferent economy and an overwhelmed government, a different sort of story begins to take shape in Nia’s mind.

///

The facts are these: of the nineteen people she interviews for the piece -- consisting mostly of those from a hard-hat occupation -- all but two cite interplanetary alien immigration as one of the biggest issues in the election.

Of those seventeen workers, fifteen say they will vote for the candidate taking a harder stance against the Alien Amnesty Act. Twelve of them express sympathy in regards to Ben Lockwood’s incarceration. Nine admit that the Children of Liberty, while misguided in their approach, had the right idea when it came to alien identification and the reclamation of government services exclusively towards human affairs.

Two of them outright state they too would take direct action if faced against an extraterrestrial.

(“ _Al_ _ien scum_ ” they say, without a wince, anger and terror sharpening the slopes of their faces.

_Invaders. Cockroaches._

_Monsters._ )

The facts are these: national polls indicate that the Children of Liberty are undeniably unpopular, that the country is neutral towards the Alien Amnesty Act, and that President Baker’s highest approval numbers aren’t close to what Marsden’s were -- even during the tumultuous period between her outing and resignation.

And yet.

And yet fifteen people, of different ages and personalities and ethnicities, sat across from Nia and said interplanetary aliens do not belong in the United States of America.

Especially not as citizens, with all the protections and rights granted to them by becoming such.

/

The facts are these: Nia -- once her hands have stopped shaking, once she has called home and reassured herself of her family’s safety -- walks into her editor’s office and pleads for more time to dig into this possible rift between national and local opinions on anti-alien sentiment.

She’s given a week. Mostly because of the elections, but Nia takes it happily. Or well, not exactly happily, but determinedly. Ready to work. Eager, in a way, for here is something that feels important. Significant.  

/

Here is another fact: a few google searches reveal that, of the many journalists living and working in National City, none has a higher word count covering ET-related news than one Kara Danvers of CatCo Magazine.

(Sidenote: Nia Nal _did not_ apply to CatCo Magazine and was totally _not_ heart-wrenchingly _crushed_ when she was turned down. Anyone who says differently is just spreading patently false and totally wrong rumors and should immediately cease and desist such slanderous talk or suffer consequences _okEy MAEVE_ , you meANiE.

Anyhow...)

CatCo’s online directory does not have a number listed for Kara Danvers. Nor does it have an email address. Nia has to go to _karadanvers.com_ to get the digits, and is promptly sent to a full voicemail when she dials, leaving her unable to leave a message.

Which- huh. Unexpectedly rude? Or maybe just unexpectedly unprofessional? 

Figuring the reporter must be busy or something, Nia just shrugs and shoots Ms. Danvers an email before turning her attention onto her desk, where a massive stack of papers, still warm from the printer, sits. Highlighter uncapped, coffee piping hot, and already dreading having to make sense of the dozens of polls and their methodologies, Nia dives into work.

/

Three days later, Nia resurfaces from an ocean of spreadsheets and data long enough to check in with her editor and confirm that yes, it seems like National City, despite leaning more liberal than most of the country in other issues, is going against national trends when it comes to ETs.

(Kara Danvers has not emailed back and is still sending calls to a full voicemail, so Nia sends a second email that is a bit less formal and a lot more pleading)

/

Two days afterwards, Nia resurfaces from an endlessly frustrating back-and-forth between herself and each candidate’s campaign manager long enough to check in with her editor and confirm that yes, most of the candidates had done their own polling and had also noticed the trend-- they just hadn’t discussed it much with the media out of fear of it drawing attention away from their policy platforms and transforming the election into a single-issue race.

(Kara Danvers still has not emailed back and is _yet again_ sending calls to voicemail, so Nia writes a _third_ email, with some of her data attached. The message is terser and more urgent than she’s entirely comfortable with, but Ms. Danvers’ input could be valuable given her expertise, so Nia sucks it up and hits send anyways)

/

A day later, Nia resurfaces from the hell that is proofreading, triumphantly delivers a copy of the article to her editor, and practically zombie-walks home, more than ready to sleep for the next fourteen hours.

/

Kara Danvers never emails back.

///

Nia dreams.

 

( _She's walking down a hallway bathed in shades of blue, steps echoed by the uncomfortable clang of metal hitting metal. She nears a door and the volume of the clanging rises, louder and louder and louder and something feels wrong, something is wrong, she has to find---_ )

///

When she wakes, dream already forgotten, it's to an email from her editor that contains, in order: a smiley face, two thumbs up emojis, and a P.S. that says ‘needs 2B more balanced. Get quote from alien/alien-expert/policypro ASAP!’

A quick check reveals Kara Danvers _still_ has not emailed back and is _still_ sending calls to voicemail so, after sending out queries to a couple of promising NCU professors and a few prominent ETs, Nia does what she should’ve done from the start and calls CatCo directly.

Only to immediately get placed on hold.

It isn’t too bad though. The smooth jazz MOH is alternated with decent covers of 70s music that keep Nia and her deskmate, Diego Robles, entertained through a couple of games of hangman.

She’s actually drawing the final foot on her stick figure, Diego having guessed wrong once again, and smugly singing along to ABBA’s _Mamma Mia_ (as covered by a dude with a synth), when a recently hired and very confused accountant named Kendra Denvers picks up the phone.

Denvers turns out to be nice, if a bit unused to navigating CatCo’s internal phone directory.

(“I’m so sorry, I still can’t find her. Danvers right?”

“Yep, Kara Danvers.”

“I’m sorry but all I can find is a memo that says… huh. It says all enquiries are to be sent to a Ms. Hubert. Here, let me transfer you.”)

///

Over the next couple of hours, Nia gets real acquainted with Marlene Hubert, a CatCo PR representative with a no-nonsense attitude and a super frustrating catchphrase: “We are not at liberty to disclose the private information of any former or current CatCo employee to any third party.”

Every single CatCo editor Nia contacts -- once she has expressed her desire to speak to Kara Danvers specifically -- transfers her over to Marley, who remains unflappable and inscrutable.

“Wait,” Diego points at her as he tops up his thermos with the sludge the office calls coffee.

Whatever he says next is lost to her as Nia gets distracted by the color of his tie. It's a very very _very_ mustard-y yellow. She can’t, for the life of her, stop staring at the strip of cloth and gosh does she want to say something about it. But she also doesn’t want to hurt or offend Diego, who has proven to be a great deskmate and friend, always willing to share the amazing sugar cookies his son likes to bake.

But, jeez, the  _tie_. It’s a-- a _monstrosity_. A crime against fashion. An unrelenting attack on her retinas.

“Nia? Nia?”

“Huh?” somehow, she tears her eyes away from the stupid tie long enough to look up at Diego’s amused face.

“Hey space cadet,” he teases, “I just asked if you really do call scary PR lady _Marley_. Seems more like the type to insist on being called Ms. Hubert.”

“I mean, no? It’s a nickname kept firmly in my head,” Nia confesses, “ _although_. I feel like we should’ve reached first name basis like, _at least_ three calls ago. Like… we’re there, Diego. We’ve reached that point. We’ve got a rhythm. A routine. I ask for a simple phone number, she says no, rinse and repeat. Real fun. Totes would recommend.”

Diego laughs at her complaining, but he also brings her an egg croissant so, when Marlene gets momentarily tired of Nia’s badgering and leaves her on hold for another twenty minutes, she gracefully lets him win the game of flick football they start and doesn’t tease him for the way he mangles the lyrics to the Bee Gee’s _Night Fever_.

(She’s definitely bringing one of her dad’s ties though. Keep it in her drawer as an ‘in case of fashion emergency, break glass’ sort of thing)

 

///

Nia is reaching the end of CatCo's editor contact list and frankly, her patience, when luck hits in the form of a Politics correspondent usually assigned to Washington. In a dumb stroke of fortune, the woman is in National City on holiday from work and thus seemingly unaware of the literal memo on company-wide silence because she stays on the line long enough for Nia to wrangle a meeting. 

Which she's late to.

By the time she runs into a small cafe near the waterfront, Andrea Gibson -- short, pant-suited, and no-nonsense -- is already mid-lunch, carefully picking the cranberries out of her salad.

(Nia is pretty sure that last tidbit of information is irrelevant, but her brain can’t seem to help itself from clocking the action)

“Thanks for meetin-”

“So, what is it you need to know about Danvers?”

“Uh,” Nia fumbles, caught off guard by the fact that Andrea Gibson is also the type of person who just shoots past pleasantries and goes straight to the point. “I- um. I just need a phone number? Someway to contact her. The one listed on her website sends me straight to voicemail.”

“Oh. Right,” Andrea sounds... disappointed? Or maybe relieved?

Nia can’t really get a good read on the tone, but it niggles at some part of her brain. The same part of her brain that heard a 19-year-old construction worker spitting out anti-alien vitriol and realized the sentiment was too practiced. Too ingrained. That there was a larger story in play.

A bigger picture.

Also, it’s the part of her brain that insists cranberries are the best parts of a non-savory salad. It balances out the bitter greens, like the arugula covering the CatCo writer’s plate.

“Here,” Andrea, ignorant of Nia’s skittering thoughts, takes a napkin from underneath her fork and starts to scribble on it, “Danvers changes her number pretty often, but this was her cell last time I checked.”

Nia takes in the new detail with a smile, slotting it into place next to what she already knows. Which, admittedly, isn’t much.

Just three facts really.

One. Reporters shouldn’t be this hard to reach.  
Two. Coworkers don’t tend to be this reticent to speak.  
Three. PR departments aren’t usually this involved.

(What’s the bigger picture here?)

“You know,” Nia begins, faking nonchalance even as her heart pounds in anticipation, “it’s weird. Kara Danvers is not on any CatCo directory.”

Andrea doesn’t look up. Her entire frame tenses though. Hunches up.

It’s obvious she knows _something_. 

“People kept redirecting me to the PR department too. There was a memo,” Nia recalls.

At this not-so-subtle verbal nudge, Andrea’s eyes flicker to the sides -- as if looking for people listening in. Whatever ignorance she might have had on the moratorium on talking about Kara Danvers, it seems to have been corrected in the time between arranging for this meeting and actually sitting down to talk. 

_But._ But, there’s no denial.

Andrea Gibson is not walking away.

So Nia takes a plunge.

“You thought I was asking _about_ Kara Danvers, not _for_ her. Why?”

And, like a balloon slowly deflating, Andrea’s shoulders sink as she heaves out a sigh. And Nia knows she’s got her.

“Look," Andrea whispers, brisk tone softening into something unsure, something hesitant, "all I know is that Danvers doesn’t work at CatCo anymore.”

“Since when? Can I get this on record?” Nia asks.

At Andrea’s nod she takes out a pen from her purse and runs it a few times across a napkin to coax out the ink, ready for some light note-taking. While she’d prefer to use her trusty voice recorder -- a gift from her mom -- she refrains from pulling it out in deference to the way Andrea sinks lower into her chair, still staring around in suspicion.

“She was fired about a month ago,” Andrea continues, once Nia nods that she’s ready, “like two days after there was a round of random drug testing.”

“Random drug testing? I thought California state law doesn’t usually allow for that.”

“Usually, the state’s privacy laws are supposed to protect against that sort of thing,” Andrea confirms, putting her elbows on top of the table -- manners be damned -- and burying her face into her palms. “But after L-Corp bought us out, they overhauled a lot of company policies. We had to waive a lot of those privacy protections when we signed our renewal contracts. Even those of us who primarily work from outside headquarters.”

“Oh wow,” Nia sits forwards, half-copying Andrea’s pose with one arm, the other speeding across loose napkins. She makes a note to herself to remember to put notepads in her purse since she apparently can’t always depend on being able to use her recorder. “You think Danvers tested positive?”

“I mean, it’s the only thing that matches up with the timing. But...”

“But what?”

“It’s just too crazy!” Andrea whispers fervently, “Kara? And _drugs_? Only if you consider Noonan’s sticky buns a controlled substance.”

“So she’s definitely not the type?” Nia asks, thinking back on what little she knows about drug addicts. “No chance she was just really good at hiding it?”

“No,” Andrea shakes her head, resolute. “No way. There must be something else. Especially if it got the board involved enough to overrule Olsen.”

“Olsen?”

“Yeah. James Olsen. Acting CEO. He and Danvers are good friends, he wouldn’t just fire her like that. Not unless the orders came from above him. So it had to be the board. It’s just that no one knows why.”

“Maybe she was slacking off or something?” Even as she says it though, Nia knows that can’t be it, not with the number of articles she saw in her limited google search.

Saying Kara Danvers is a prolific writer would probably be an understatement.

“No no. Danvers was a total workhorse,” Andrea confirms, impatiently tapping her foot against their table’s base, making it rock a bit with every nudge. “First to get in, last to leave. Always chasing a lead.”

She sounds… admiring. There’s a respect there, towards the other reporter, a sense of genuine esteem.

_‘Likable?’_ Nia writes into her notepad, wondering if Kara Danvers is as highly regarded in the rest of the office as she obviously is by Andrea Gibson.

“And it couldn’t have been anything related to office tensions,” Andrea continues, as if reading Nia’s mind. “Danvers is too nice. And too well-liked, even when she disagrees with you. And sure, I haven't been around HQ much since getting assigned White House duty last year, but I don't imagine much has changed.”

Which reminds Nia...

“How is PR related to all this?”

“Beats me,” Andrea pokes at her lone cranberries. “From what I hear, they and a couple of suits from L-Corp just came in one day, told everyone Danvers had been fired. And that any communication or notices or whatever that came for her had to be instantly redirected to Hubert. They made people sign something too. Legally binding and everything.”

“Maybe they just don’t want a lawsuit?” Nia hypothesizes aloud. “If they want to cover themselves from fallout in case Danvers decides to sue for wrongful termination or something?”

“I don’t know,” Andrea says, “possibly.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

“Well, if not drugs, why do you think Danvers was fired?” Nia shrugs lightly, trying to get tension to leave her shoulders. “If you had to guess?”   

“Honestly?” Andrea imitates Nia’s shrug. “She probably started looking into something she shouldn’t have. Girl is like a dog with a bone when investigating.”

“Do you know what she was working on? Or better yet, do you know where I can find her?”

“No. But I know who might.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m assuming many things in this:  
> 1\. That CatCo Magazine is more Vanity Fair than Cosmo. But still not really New Yorker.  
> 2\. That CatCo Magazine is a bimonthly (twice a month) magazine, but their website updates its content constantly.


	2. Carr v. Nal Break Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapper Carr? Meet the Magnificent Nia Nal.

Snapper Carr is a confident walker.

He’s speedy and sure-stepped and has that special  _something_  that makes people automatically move out of his way. Like Moses making a path through the Red Sea. Only instead of water it’s rushing pedestrians.

It is against this parting sea of people that Nia has to wade through in order to reach him. Which isn’t exactly easy. It takes some jostling, a few apologies and almost getting elbowed in the face twice before she can finally catch up to Snapper.

“Mr. Carr!" she wheezes out, already winded from her brief struggle. "Mr. Carr! Hi, my name is Nia Nal and-"

“Yeah, I’ve heard of you,” Snapper interrupts, giving her a disinterested once-over even as he slows the tiniest bit, “you’re the  _Herald_ rookie whose been bothering my reporters all weekend. Congrats kid, you might’ve actually driven Hubert to drink.”

“Yeah, well, if someone had told me from the start that Kara Danvers doesn’t even  _work_ for the magazine anymore, I would’ve sure wasted a lot less of everyone's time," Nia sniffs, a little hurt by how her persistence (a solid trait!) is being maligned.

“Ah," Snapper stops abruptly, making her stumble right into a light pole as she tries to avoid crashing into him.

"Someone squealed," he notes, shrewdly looking down at her as she rubs at her aching knee, "Let me guess. Ramirez? Sen?”

“I-" Nia wilts a little under his surly gaze. "I can’t- um, disclose that," she says, trying to sound firm, the memory of Andrea Gibson’s furtive glances crossing her thoughts instantly.

Snapper doesn’t let up on the glare for a long uncomfortable moment, and Nia wonders if she’s already lost her chance-

but then he suddenly smiles. Or, well, it’s actually more of a smirk.  

“Good,” he says. “Rule number one of reporting: always protect your source.”

“Oh, um- thank you?” Nia stumbles over the words, flustered by the compliment. “I really do need to get in contact with Ms. Danvers though. See, I can’t find her, and I guess I hoped-”

A loud honk startles her back into the knee-busting light pole, just in time to avoid a head-on collision with a couple of kids on longboards.

"Hey! Be careful!" she yells after them, clutching at her chest and frantically looking for Snapper-

Who is already half a block away.

Jeez.

///

"Oh wow," she pants once she catches up to him again, "you walk really fast."

“Apparently not fast enough," Snapper grumbles. "Have you tried her phone?”

“Yes, I’ve  _tried her phone_ ,” Nia says, exasperated by the question. “And her email. And her website. Even her Twitter! I was thinking skywriting next. Y’know, for variety.”

“Looks to me like Danvers just doesn’t want to speak to you,” he says, unamused by her snark.  

“That’s the thing though,” Nia rushes out, not willing to accept defeat just yet. “Danvers isn’t speaking to  _anyone_. I asked a few coworkers to ring her up and they also get voicemail. None of our emails have been replied to. And my source said she loves Noonan's. But the baristas there haven't seen her since she was fired.”

“Maybe she found another coffee place,” Snapper dismisses.

“Maybe,” she concedes. “I’d still like to talk to her though. Please, Mr. Carr. Do you know where I might be able to find her?”

Snapper sighs gustily and stops.

Instantly, she puts on her best most pleading smile and, though he looks unimpressed by it, he doesn’t storm off yet.

So Nia risks a bit more pushing.

“This is my first real real article,” she says, deciding on honesty, even if it makes her a little embarrassed, as if she’s a little kid asking an adult for help on her homework. She shakes the feeling off though because-

"It’s important I speak with her,” she continues, “I want to do a good job on it.  _Please_ Mr. Carr."

”Ugh,” Snapper groans, shaking his head. “ _Fine_. Fine. Just- stop with the face,” he waves vaguely at her.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Nia breathes out, trying to rearrange her features into a more serious expression. She fails miserably, of course. Even as she blurts out about three more  _thankyou_ ’s (in an increasingly loud voice), her wide smile refuses to fade.

She almost goes for a hug too, but Snapper’s frown has turned into a startled sorta glare so she just bounces a bit instead. And tries to tame her exuberance into something- well. Something less exuberant.

"Don't thank me yet," Snapper grumbles, still looking at her warily.

His words don’t dampen Nia’s mood though. She just knows that Kara Danvers is the right person to talk to. Fired or not, the former CatCo reporter has had a finger on the pulse of National City's alien community for years now. The context and background she can provide could be invaluable.

She is absolutely sure of it.

Together now, they begin walking again, though thankfully at a more sedate pace.

"You got pepper spray in that bag of yours?" Snapper asks, interrupting the not-so-companionable quiet that has fallen between them.

"Um," Nia's smile fades, "no?"

Snapper rolls his eyes rather impressively. Like, full-on 180 degree turn.  

“And here I thought you were showing more sense than the average rookie. C’mon let’s go pick some up. With where we’re going, it may come in handy.”

///

‘Where we’re going’ turns out to be East Avedolon -- a neighborhood mostly known for two things: vibrant street art and crime.

 _So much crime_.

Arson, B&E, racketeering, gambling, actual honest to god murder. All of it happens in East Avedolon.

The guys who cover the local crime beat over at the  _Herald_  like to say that the neighborhood has been contested gang territory for about as long as gangs have existed. That it has more chop shops than actual mechanics, more drugs than a pharmacy and that it, supposedly, might be were Supergirl lives.

It is this latter rumor to which Nia clings to as she nervously gets out of the cab she and Snapper rode to Kara Danvers' apartment building.

She repeats it like a mantra:

Supergirl might live here.

And it’s daylight.

And she’s not alone.

And East A has actually gotten way better in the last few years so, really.

Everything'll be fine.

But, just in case, she sticks super super close to the cantankerous Snapper, who grumbles about the cab fare and her proximity and the building’s broken buzzer and the shoddy locks and the million stairs they have to climb to get to the top floor.

The grumbling is actually kind of comforting. Makes the whole endeavor seem more routine.

Nia’s nerves also settle a bit more once they reach the right floor and finally get out of the dark and damp stairwell.

They're greeted by a cheery hallway that is decorated with a couple of nice paintings and a row of potted daisies. It’s startling, how much the place is comfortably at odds with the building’s dilapidated exterior.

Walking down the hallway, Nia takes a moment to admire one of the paintings. It’s a view of the ocean, dark and blue and very very vast, with waves crashing against rocks.

And there’s something familiar about it.

In fact, there’s something familiar about everything, though Nia can't quite put a finger on what it is. It's unnerving though, this sense of déjà vu. Enough so that, by the time they reach a white metal door, the feeling of familiarity has transformed into a sense of disquiet.

Which grows when Snapper knocks, his wedding band hitting the door at an angle that causes a loud metallic clanging to ring out across the hallway.

_No one will answer._

The thought forms instinctively. Without reason. And though it feels as true and certain as her name, Nia tries to dismiss it, chastising herself for being so pessimistic.

But as Snapper knocks louder and louder -- and yet still, no one answers, her certainty grows. As does her unease.

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” she whispers, anxiousness settling into her bones as she remembers- something. The blurry edges of a memory, maybe.

Or the phantom image of a dream.

///

( _She’s walking down her hallway -- something follows -- and she’s acting normal -- she is normal -- as she enters her home -- she listens as hard as she can -- she has to find-_ )

///

Snapper’s grumbling breaks Nia out of- well. Out of whatever that was.

She blinks hard and pushes off from where she’s kinda slumped sideways against the metal door. The trance? (daydream? intrusive thought?) fades as she rights herself but the disorientation stays. She tries to ignore it, in favor of looking at Snapper and trying to figure out whatever it is that he’s doing.

Because he  _is_ doing- something. Moving around the hallway, running his hands behind paintings and under flower pots.

The latter catch her attention for a moment. Maybe because of how weird it is that two of the flower pots have smaller plants, even though the pots are all the same... size.

 _Oh_.

"Mr. Carr," Nia whispers, finally having figured out what it is he’s doing, "the two plants on the far left."

He follows her gaze and nods when he notices what she already had.

"Huh, good eye kid," he grunts out as he approaches the pots, touches the edges and, with a guilty glance at the flowers, digs his fingers into the soil until-

Bingo.

A key.

///

It's probably unethical and maybe possibly also illegal, but they let themselves into Kara Danvers' apartment.

It is surprisingly spacious -- the substantial (and in East A, probably dirt cheap) square footage doing much to light up the already warmly decorated place. It helps that it feels lived in, from the art supplies piled into a corner to the soft-looking blanket draped over the couch in front of the blaring tv.

There’s more plants here too, intersped between shelved knick-knacks and mismatched furniture, and they all look nice, if a little wilted at the edges.

Nia reaches out to touch the one nearest to her, just next to a little wooden stand that contains a colorful and slightly lopsided decorative bowl-

There are keys inside the bowl.

And there’s a jacket draped over one of the sofa arms, and shoes lay discarded besides the living room rug, and a handbag is hazapardly strewn over the kitchen table. All as if Kara Danvers had just arrived, turned on the tv and gone over to the kitchen to prepare herself a meal.

But Kara Danvers is not here.

It’s just Nia and Snapper, who is inspecting a juice carton sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Expired," he says when he sees her looking at him. His voice is gruffer than it’s been all day, quieter. He’s feeling it too, she realizes. The wrongness of the scene.

For a moment, Nia hopes that she’s being silly. That the other woman will surely emerge from the bedroom any second now and berate them for their trespassing.

But then she sees Snapper run a finger over the kitchen table; sees how he dislodges what must be a centimeter-deep layer of dust, and her hope dies.

///

“I’m calling the police,” Snapper says, shakily, surliness gone. "Don't- don't touch anything."

///

The coffee in NCPD’s 7th District station is even worse than the one at the  _Herald_. Both watery and somehow burnt-tasting, Nia has to put like six creamers in the thing before she can take a sip without gagging a little.

But it’s warm.

And right now she could do with some warmth.

So could Snapper. Probably. So Nia fills an extra cup, just in case, before returning to the main part of the building, where Snapper is sprawled on one of the many plastic chairs littered about.

"Hey" she murmurs, “coffee?”  

“Thanks kid,” he says, accepting the extra cup with a sigh. “You could’ve gone home you know.”

Nia hums in agreement, taking a sip from her overly creamy coffee. It’s true, the officers on duty had taken her statement relatively quick. It just-

“Didn’t seem right,” she confesses, gingerly lowering herself into the chair next to his, body sore from the late hour and constant sitting she’s been doing all day.

Snapper grunts, maybe in agreement, and tilts his cup in her direction.

They sit in silence for a bit after that, both worn down by the excitement of the day.

Though Nia wouldn’t call it excitement, really. There’s nothing exciting about missing people. Shocking maybe. Tragic, surely.

Looking at Snapper, at his slumped posture, his frown -- different than his usual grumpiness; more sad, more exhausted -- she wonders at his relation to Kara Danvers.

“You knew her address,” she blurts out, unable to stop herself.

It’s not a question.

“I did,” Snapper agrees. His expression crumbles as he says it, grief shining through. But only for a moment. He takes a sip of coffee and it seems to steady him. Enough for him to regain his composure  

“This was your first time going there since she got fired…” Nia trails off, the ‘ _why didn’t you check up on her earlier?’_  going unsaid but heavily implied.

Snapper doesn’t turn to her. His gaze remains fixed on the styrofoam cup between his hands as he tilts it back and forth, the coffee inside sloshing dangerously close to the edges.

His silence grates.

Nia wants to push. She wants- she wants him to stop looking somber and she wants her coffee to taste like actual coffee and she wants her mom and she wants Snapper to smile and say ‘ha! Tricked you’ while he produces Kara Danvers from thin air and she wants this stupid stupid chair to stop being so damn uncomfortable.

She doesn’t push.

Instead, she just sits there, feeling- god she isn’t even sure. Upset? Or maybe angry. Hungry? She’s not sure, really.

And she doesn’t like being unsure, so she does as her parents taught her and takes a couple of deep breaths before trying to make sense of the emotions tightening her chest.

Is she upset?

Yes. Partly because it’s late and she’s been questioned by policemen. Partly because she knows she wasn't of much help and that’s upsetting. Obviously, she’s also upset because someone -- a woman, a reporter -- is missing.

That’s not all though…

Nia’s parents also taught her to be honest, so it is with some shame that she admits to herself that, truthfully, the main reason she is upset? Is because now her article won’t be perfect. It is a dumb petty thing to be upset about but she is. And it’s ok to feel that, even if it isn’t particularly noble or generous.

Which reminds her- is she angry?

Oh. Definitely.

Partly because dammit, she’s worked really really hard on that article. Partly because how dare Snapper not check in on his recently-fired employee who he knows lives in the worst part of town and might possibly not be in the best state of mind.

Mostly though, she feels angry because she can’t  _do anything_.

She can’t magically share more than what she’s already told the cops because she doesn’t  _know_ more, and she can’t magically make Kara Danvers reappear, and she can’t make Snapper feel better, and she can’t go home yet because it wouldn’t be right.

Even though she’s tired.

So so tired.

Instead of focusing more on that though, Nia breathes and thinks of what she  _can_  do.

She can send an email to her boss asking for the morning off, and she can send follow ups to the other people she had contacted for information to beef up her article, and she can take a couple more breaths.

It helps.

Another thing she can do is let go of her anger. It’s not currently helpful and it’s not really all that fair and it makes her head hurt so she lets it go.

That helps too.

///

Also, it turns out she  _is_  hungry, after all.

///

Nia is munching on a blueberry muffin, which she bought for $1.50 from the world’s loudest vending machine, when Snapper suddenly begins talking.

“About two months ago,” he starts, “one of our reporters crashed his car into a sidewalk. Killed two pedestrians and himself.”

Oh.

Nia remembers that. It had been an older reporter, the kind who has been around forever and who everyone in the business knew. She remembers work had been quiet that week, most of her older coworkers taking Thursday off to attend the man’s funeral.

“Joshua Huan,” she recalls.

“Yeah, Joshy. Turns out he’d been high as fuck. Probably didn’t even realize it when he lost control of the car.” Snapper shakes his head, mouth twisted into a scowl. “I’d known the man for years and I didn’t even have a clue. I mean, looking back on it the signs were everywhere. But fuck kid, I had no idea. So when upper management suggested tests for the whole department…”

“You didn’t fight it,” Nia says. It’s easy to imagine. For all that Snapper is a grump and a grouse, he obviously cares deeply about the work he does and the people he does it with. After Joshua Huan’s death, he probably was a little shaken. Enough to agree to the random drug tests.

“I should’ve fought it,” Snapper admits.

“Why?” Nia asks, although she’s pretty sure she can guess correctly.

“Because we have a right for privacy,” Snapper argues, irritation straightening his back, “because the union hasn’t stopped riding my ass since I let it happen. Because it's just something more that L-Corp’s bullshit policies have imposed on us.” He slumps, ire leaving him in a single exhale. “Because Danvers shouldn’t have been fired.”

And there it is. The real reason.

Putting her elbows on the armrests of her uncomfortably hard chair, Nia slumps lower too, ignoring the way the new position instantly makes her butt hurt as she settles over the practically non-existent padding.

“She really wasfired for drug use?”

“I ain’t seen the results myself but, yeah. Basically,” Snapper confirms, setting his now empty cup down on the floor, right next to his right leg, which is bouncing pretty hard. Faster and faster and it’s obvious that there’s more. That there’s a whole diatribe, an entire onslaught of words just  _waiting_  to burst out.

But Snapper keeps quiet, practically vibrating off his seat even as he mulishly refuses to look up from the floor.

“Y’know, the person I talked to,” Nia hesitates, clears her throat a bit to stop her voice from trembling, tries real hard to keep her tone conversational. “They thought it was all bull. That Danvers isn’t the type.”

“... I- I thought so too at first,” Snapper grudgingly admits, “but- looking back, the signs are there, just like Joshy.”

“What sort of signs?” Nia asks, curious. She really should read up on addiction, what she knows is painfully lacking.

“Just stuff,” Snapper rubs at the bridge of his nose, “at the time I thought it was just Danvers being Danvers, y’know. Like- like the excessive energy? I thought it was just her being cheery and bouncy and all that positive shit. I thought that the way she was reckless with herself was just her showing grit and perseverance and chasing the story wherever it led. And then, all those dumb excuses that let her leave her desk? I never really questioned them. Because it was always something plausible, something she really might get roped into helping out with. Broken printers and runaway dogs and old ladies crossing the street? I never doubted Danvers was doing all those things, ‘cause that’s the kind of person Danvers is y’know. Helpful to a fault. And- and you wanna know the worst part? I kept telling her that she should stand up for herself, make people respect her time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Nia sees Snapper cover his face with one hand, as if that can somehow hide the way words pour out of him -- angry and hurt and maybe even wistful somewhere underneath the pained drawl of them. Vulnerable.

“I was so fucking angry at her,” he continues, voice haggard, strained. “She’s so fucking  _talented_. And she has so much fucking  _heart_. I thought she was better. That she  _knew better_.”

Snapper lets out a mirthless laugh then rubs at his watery eyes.

“Guess in the end it was me who didn’t know shit.”

Nia doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to respond, wouldn’t be able to talk past the lump in her throat even if she did.

All she can do is gingerly lean sideways, so that their shoulders brush. A wordless comfort.

Snapper leans into the contact.

“God,” he chokes out, “I should have checked in on her sooner.”

Beneath the hands covering his face, Nia can see the glint of tears.

“I should have checked in on her sooner.”

///

Ironically, it’s neither the  _Herald_ nor any of CatCo’s publications who break the news -- rather, it’s the local channel 5 who first reports on the disappearance of Kara Danvers, thusly living up to their motto of ‘ _Local. Current. Accurate._ ’

Nia discovers this when, shortly after she gets home from the police station, her roommate turns on the tv and there, on KPJT’s evening news: Kara Danvers. Reporter. Missing.

“Hey,” Yvette says, “isn’t that the reporter you’ve been trying to get a hold of?”

“Yeah.”

Together, they watch wordlessly as the anchor informs them all that Kara Danvers was last seen by her neighbors two weeks ago. There’s no photo, and, while the anchor does describe Danvers as a ‘former CatCo employee,’ there’s no mention of drugs.

Not that Nia is surprised by the latter detail.

Now that the news have broken out, Marlene Hubert has probably tightened the reins over at CatCo. Especially given the new context, i.e. ‘missing reporter’ instead of the whole ‘disgruntled and suing ex-employee’ scenario she might have been prepared for.

And, this time, Marlene’s tight-lipped manner might be a good thing… it’ll definitely spare Nia from having to hear the ‘she had it coming’ insinuations people tend to make in these sort of circumstances.

Unfortunately, the news anchor doesn’t really say anything of note. They seem to be even less informed than Nia.

All they say is that the details are still mostly unknown.

And that any information should be forwarded to the NCPD.

///

Nia does not dream that night.

Her rest still isn't easy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry pals.


	3. The Opaqueness of Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nia starts running out of options.

Nia’s article goes to print the same day she’s assigned the Kara Danvers story.

In a way, it’s unfortunate timing -- she’s got friends and family calling with congratulations on her first solo byline and Nia has to smile and accept compliments and praise as if, just a few days ago, she hadn’t witnessed a man cry real tears of grief over the disappearance of a woman he’d known for years. As if Nia hadn’t been  _there_ in Kara Danvers’ apartment; stood in the woman’s  _home_  and known -- immediately, viscerally -- that something was  _wrong_.  

And, oh, how Nia wishes that she had paid attention to her mother’s lessons on how the family powers worked, on what they actually  _did_.

How foolish of her, to so strongly believe she would never inherit them.

(How wondrous, having them.

A mother’s gift, to her  _daughter_.)

The regret gnaws at the edges of her thoughts, which are themselves twisted into loops that all lead back to Kara Danvers and all the things Nia doesn’t know about the situation. Such as  _what_ happened, and  _why_.

It could be said then, that getting the assignment is also a relief. For it’s an opportunity to search for answers to questions that would otherwise haunt her for a long long time.

Unfortunately, the most urgent of these questions --  _where_  is Kara Danvers? -- is solely within the NCPD’s purview.

And they’re not in any hurry to share what they know.

Nia and her peers have been relegated to searching blindly for anything that may explain the disappearance itself. She does have an advantage over most in that she already knows about the possible drug habit, which could be huge. But she also knows that Snapper and CatCo will be pursuing that angle  _hard_ and she doesn’t trust her fledgling abilities to outpace and outscoop such experienced investigators.

No, she’d rather look into a less salacious angle, as provided by Andrea Gibson’s cranberry-adverse gut: what was Kara Danvers working on?

///

But first…

What does Kara Danvers even look like?

///

There are hundreds of pictures of Kara Danvers online and her face is visible in exactly none of them.

Most of the older ones are similar: Cat Grant, radiant and stylish and at the front and center, dazzling at some event or another. And somewhere in the background, blurry and indistinct, always mid-conversation with a revolving assortment of employees, stands Kara Danvers.

These initial pictures set a tone, repeated in more recent images:

Lena Luthor at a press conference, sharp and pale and devastatingly put together, foreground; Kara Danvers, head ducked down and mid-motion, background.

James Olsen in his office, handsome and broad-shouldered, foreground; Kara Danvers, on her cellphone and halfway out the door, background.

Crime scenes and cordoned-off sites, rubble or bullets riddling the ground, violence at the foreground; and there, Kara Danvers, only partly visible from where she’s standing behind barriers or cops or smoke, scribbling away in the background.

It isn’t difficult to find her in the images. For all that her face is constantly blurred or obscured, Kara Danvers is easy to recognize as a blond splash of pastel constantly on the move.

Still, Nia’s frustration grows when the only clear picture she can get her hands on is an employee photo that she practically had to beg CatCo’s HR department for.

Annoyingly, even that isn't great.

The shot is almost completely ruined by the camera's flash, which washes out Kara Danvers' skin and creates a reflective glare on the lenses of her dark-rimmed glasses, concealing the eyes.

///

When Nia complains about the fruitless search to her coworkers, they suggest using what everyone else is -- a shot from the immediate aftermath of the April bombings at L-Corp.

It's actually a pretty iconic shot.

In it, a bloody and grimy Kara Danvers sits on the back of an ambulance, one hand covering her eyes, the other holding onto the shock blanket wrapped around her. But she’s not alone -- hovering at her sides, both staring down at the reporter with great concern, are Supergirl and Lena Luthor.

Nia can’t deny it’s a powerful image, but she doesn’t want to use it. Supergirl and Lena Luthor’s presences are so formidable, so instantly authoritative, that even though it’s Kara Danvers sitting on the foreground for once, she feels more like an afterthought. A prop in the classic iconography of a Luthor and a Super standing together as equals.

No, better to use the employee photo, crappy flash and all.

///

Nia does believe in the power of context though, so she adds a few sentences about the L-Corp bombings to her draft.

It’s not much, just a basic recap for anyone who might have missed the days and days of 24-hour coverage following the incident, where a crew of thieves -- believed to be formerly affiliated with CADMUS -- used explosives in an attempt to steal some highly classified alien tech from an underground lab deep inside the company headquarters.

Security moved quickly and evacuated most of the building, but not before part of the lobby collapsed and trapped 17 people -- one of whom was Kara Danvers -- in the rubble for hours until Supergirl arrived to the rescue.

The context that this inclusion adds to Nia’s eventual article is two-fold: on one level, attaching Kara Danvers’ name to a recognizable event that already has her listed as a person of note will add interest to Nia’s piece. On another level, subtler but possibly of more importance, mentioning the event also provides an early link between Kara Danvers and L-Corp.

Between the bombing, the company’s role in CatCo’s changing policies, even the low-key and sporadically documented friendship between Kara Danvers and Lena Luthor… the various links between the multi-billion company and the missing reporter have cropped up too often now, for Nia to ignore.

And sure, maybe nothing will come out of the link. Maybe it’s all just coincidence.

But Nia decides on hedging her bets, especially once she notices something weird about the old live coverage following the L-Corp bombing, namely the fact that plenty of information on the trapped victims had been shared through the news. Occupations, friends and families, accomplishments -- all broadcast to the nation at large.

Except for Kara Danvers.

For her, other than a passing mention of her profession, there was no background at all. No one even mentioned what she had been doing at L-Corp before the bombs went off.

The weird L-Corp coverage joins the fruitless photo search in becoming part of a very frustrating and somewhat baffling motif: an obfuscated view of Kara Danvers.

Sometimes it’s intentionally so -- such as when Nia contacts the NCPD, hoping for an update, and is rebuffed due to it being an ongoing investigation. CatCo is similar in that regard. Nia lucked out with the HR person who parted with Kara Danvers’ photo, but when she tries to get  _actual_ information, it’s always good old Marlene on the other end of the line, more tight-lipped than ever.

But, while CatCo and the NCPD have good reason to conceal what they know of the missing reporter, there is no real explanation for why that sense of opaqueness is  _everywhere_  Nia turns to look.

The Accurint report is useless. None of the information is correct, from previous workplaces to previous phone numbers. The only things right are the current address and name, which Nia knows are correct because that’s what  _she_ inputted to  _generate_ the report. When she checks with the Department of Consumer Affairs, she finds that Kara Danvers holds no type of professional license in the state of California. When she gets in touch with her DMV contact -- one of Diego’s friendlier cousins -- she finds that the missing reporter doesn’t own a registered vehicle.

There’s a driver’s license though, which gives Nia hope for a perfect two minutes before the faxed copy comes in and reveals that, while the information on it is at least correct, the face shown on it is blurry.

All that can be seen of Kara Danvers is blond hair and a squarish jaw (and that she isn’t a registered organ donor).

Nia cannot fathom how the license was approved like that. Like,  _the whole point_ of a driver's license is that it’s a  _photo_ ID. Photo. For  _identification_ purposes.

That’s it. That’s the whole point.

Diego, the traitor, laughs.

And it feels like the universe is laughing too because it isn't the last time Nia hits a dead end.

In fact, that’s all Nia gets. Dead ends.

There are no court records with Kara Danvers’ name on them. No bankruptcies, no divorces, no lawsuits. Heck, the woman didn’t even testify against the L-Corp bombing thieves.

A thorough search through the  _Herald_ ’sarchive doesn’t result in anything of substance. The paper only really wrote about the missing reporter shortly after the botched heist at L-Corp, and that was barely a footnote. The only other thing Nia finds is a stray mention about Kara Danvers being Cat Grant’s assistant a few years back.

Which Nia had already inferred after her failed image search. And anyways, even if it had been new information, it wouldn’t go anywhere thanks to CatCo’s ongoing radio silence.

Even when Nia tries to play to her strengths and starts looking into Kara Danvers’ social media -- in the hopes of finding close friends or associates -- it ends up being a waste of time. The other reporter has no Facebook. No Instagram. No LinkedIn. Heck, not even old forgotten MySpace or Flickr or hi5 accounts from when the social media phenomenon first exploded into the scene and everyone was joining up.

There is a Twitter account, verified and recent, that Nia had not looked at too closely earlier. But a more in-depth perusal shows that the account is little more than a glorified news feed. To make matters worse, the linked articles are super varied, written by a diverse group of journalists on a diverse number of topics, so Nia can’t even find a common theme to which the missing reporter may have felt strongly about.

Other than aliens. Maybe.

Honestly though, Kara Danvers is too prolific a writer for Nia to be sure. Earlier she had assumed the missing reporter specialized in ETs because, in publications like CatCo Magazine, journalists tend to be specialists who stick with what they’ve grown their expertise and contacts in. But a deeper web search reveals Kara Danvers has huge word counts on pretty much every topic under the sun: from fashion and food to crime and local government; from sports and tech to national security and finances. Heck, the woman even has a few obituaries under her belt.

The sheer variety and depth are mind-boggling, and unfortunately, it also means Nia has nothing.

///

Lost, Nia goes back to  _karadanvers.com_  and resigns herself to doing a deep dive into the site’s archive.

She only really gets three minutes into it before she gets tempted by some of the more obviously ET-related titles and, before Nia knows it, she’s reading  _everything_.

And, the more articles she reads, the more her respect for the other reporter grows.

Because Kara Danvers treats aliens  _fairly_.

Other outlets, as much as they claim fairness and objectivity, tend to not show much of either when it comes to ETs. There’s always a slightly reactionary tone, an undercurrent of _‘us vs. them’_ , a nasty willingness to jump to the worst conclusion.

For example, an incident a year ago where, as reported by mainstream media, an alien was arrested coming out of a post office due to the fact that he was in possession of anthrax.

All of the reported information was, objectively speaking, true and factual.

But the way it was presented -- did he send out anthrax to people? No. But it’s the obvious conclusion a mind reaches when those facts are laid out in that order. People assume. And those assumptions led to outcry as every other national and local news outlet ran with a similar version of the story.

Everyone that is, except for Kara Danvers, who quietly published a much more transformative article.

In it she ascertained that it was an alien, yes. She did not give a physical description. Instead, she changed the narrative by mentioning that he belonged to the Farkorian people of Tharam, who had left their home due to a devastating and ongoing planet-wide famine. More than that, Kara Danvers dug deeper; she got her hands on the police report of the ET’s arrest and got photographs of the evidence, which she showed to the supplier -- caught the same day -- who confirmed that the confiscated anthrax was just the same as how it had been sold: sealed tightly and safely inside a small sturdy container. Furthermore, Kara Danvers found out that, the day the alien had been arrested outside his local post office, he had only sent a single priority package.

To his daughter in Metropolis.

Whose birthday was three days after his arrest.

Kara then followed up with the daughter, who confirmed she had received a box of homemade snickerdoodles from her dad. And who also mentioned that her mother was pregnant.

Which, in this instance, is an important detail due to the fact that Farkorians need to go through a unique chemical reaction in order to give birth. One of the reagents cannot be naturally produced by their bodies though, and so must be ingested. That reagent is...

Ding ding ding. Anthrax.

Reading all this -- the obvious due diligence and hard work put into the piece -- it blows Nia away.

Because, the facts had remained the same: his alieness, the nature of his crime, the site of his arrest. But  _the context_. The  _framing_. It had changed  _everything_.

Kara Danvers treated the alien fairly when no one else had, and in doing so, revealed a more complex story. A more nuanced picture.

And, throughout the rest of her articles, Nia keeps seeing the same sort of dedication and effort.

There is a kindness to Kara’s writing. A willingness to hear others, to connect to them, to encourage others to connect to them -- Nia hasn't felt as vividly alien as when she reads Kara's articles; as when she looks at the aliens quoted inside and finds a word or a phrase or an experience that immediately makes her go:  _‘this_. I understand  _this_. I felt it too. I lived it too.’

Kara Danvers differentiated herself, and by extension CatCo, from all other publications thanks to this generosity in writing.

Nia really wishes she had been able to meet her before- all this.

///

Not-so-unexpectedly, reading Kara’s articles ultimately doesn’t give Nia much to go on.

While she ends up with a list of possible enemies that’s as long as her forearm, none of them seem to be likely suspects in Kara going missing. Some of them are in jail, others were effectively neutered through loss of their fortunes or power, and a surprisingly large number of them even got reformed.

All of it just cements Nia’s belief that the disappearance has something to do with more  _current_ work. Unfortunately, she just can’t find any indication of what that current work  _was_.

///

Nia goes back to basics: talking to people who may know Kara Danvers and, by extension, what she had been investigating.  

CatCo may be inaccessible, but the surrounding area isn’t. And it’s not difficult, finding places the missing reporter frequented.

The baristas at Noonan's remember her fondly, both as a patient customer and good conversationalist. Delivery boys from across a 5-mile radius note that Kara ordered ridiculous amounts of food but never stiffed them on tips. The employees at HK Dry Cleaners remember her being constantly harried but never rude. Kara apparently knew the names of every single teller and guard working at the Bank of America across CatCo and would often ask for updates on kids, significant others, and careers.

And the stories!

Of Kara helping old ladies cross streets and returning lost pets and changing flat tires. Of small kindnesses like giving directions to lost tourists and letting pregnant women cut in line and stopping for a moment to take the picture of someone struggling with a selfie.

"She was always so helpful," is what people keep saying. “And smiling.”

Always smiling.

Always nice.

///

The florist at the edge of downtown -- who recognizes Kara’s picture but not her name -- has a different take.

"She was nice, yeah. But not  _always_."

"Huh,” Nia can’t help but be surprised by that. She’s gotten so used to hearing about affable and sweet Kara Danvers, it takes a second for her to even think up a question now that someone is saying differently. “Was she rude?"

"No! No,” the florist denies fervently, “she’s always polite. It's just… every so often, she comes down here and just looks around for a while. But in a real quiet sorta way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-,” the man seems to get frustrated by his inability to convey what he’s thinking, “I don’t know. It’s like- she lingers around the gardenias if we have any, right? But she never buys some. And she never actually asks if we have them.”

“Is there something she actually buys then?” Nia asks, remembering the well-tended daisies sitting outside Kara’s apartment.

“Soil for potted plants, sometimes some of our cheaper arrangements. She’ll come up to the register and pay in cash. Then she’ll leave without a word.”

"So you didn't talk much with her?" Nia can’t help but be disappointed by that. For all that people have great things to say about Kara, no one seems to be able to tell her anything of substance. It’s just like Nia’s initial search through public records and online photos: Kara Danvers being recognizable as a whole but with the identifying details always out of focus.

"No, we didn’t speak much,” the florist confirms. “Didn't seem right to bother her. I always wondered though..."

"Wondered what?"

"Dunno. The same things I always wonder about people. What they’re thinking. Their pasts. How their day’s been going. But mostly… I kept wondering why she looked so sad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry bout the delay.  
> Sidenote: the influenza virus is evil and unvaccinated people suck. Please get the shot every year if you are able to!


End file.
